As a rule, I am sentimental to the point of neurosis. Given as I am to swaying wildly from one emotional extreme to the other, when it comes to making permanent changes, (or changes I view as permanent) I stop in my tracks. I freeze. I let dilapidation surround me. I orgiastically wreathe myself in ambivalence. This has had the benefit of keeping me alive when I would’ve rather died, but it also has the deleterious effect of keeping me in a state in which a full, worthwhile life is impossible. And so I begrudgingly trundle myself from one moment to the next, one impulse to the next, overwhelmed like Lucy and the chocolates. I’m in a chess game with my own mortality. This game is in the autumn of its life. Knight on horseback riding between morally dubious decisions that corrode my soul. I am a creature of compulsion. Knight on love’s back riding fucked up one minute, binge eating in the next, cutting the next, fucking the next, isolating the next, jumping into relationships the next. Dodging the shrouded king. Soon he will corner me. No take-backsies when he does.
Step over a rats carcass, then two. Break your mother’s heart on the count of three.
This really does in some way feel like the end. Not that I’m completely stuck; sure I have enough love and support and resources available to me that I could find some way to solve some of the problems that plague me. Just that it will only be a matter of time until I am stuck again, the whole process done over. I am an ant in a web, franticly writhing with all the force that intangible will of survival can muster. Try as I might, escape is impossible. I’m exhausted. I just want to rest.
I’m tired of living in my head, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going.